Wild Thing
by Leola Mae
Summary: Bella's been looking for something her whole life but she's never seen it. Does it exist outside her imagination? Edward, ever the dangerous predator, is the embodiment of her every desire. Rated for Mature Audiences due to graphic scenes involving pet play. AH EdwardxBella
1. Chapter 1

**Wild Thing**

Summary: Bella's been looking for something her whole life but she's never seen it. Does it exist outside her imagination? Edward, ever the dangerous predator, is the embodiment of her every desire. Rated for Mature Audiences due to graphic scenes involving pet play.

**Author's notes: This very short o/s is an animal play fic, rated M and is entirely the fault of NotThat_Kristen, luvrofink, and 3Hare5 and the weird-ass twitter convo we had. You girls are deliciously pervy and I heart you so freakin' much for that.**

**Pet Play is a kink involving people dressing and behaving like animals. In a sexual setting the pet is typically the submissive half of a D/s relationship. The dominant half is the usually the owner.**

O O

U

Her love of wild animals stemmed from somewhere in her childhood. One of her earliest memories was feeding the squirrels who lived in the trees all around her parent's lavish home. Over time as she fed the wild, bushy-tailed creatures they would come closer and closer and her mother became more and more afraid.

"Come away from those things this instant, Isabella Marie Swan!" she would shout. "They could bite your finger off and give you rabies and then your whole arm would rot and you'd be foaming at the mouth, not to mention the fleas and ticks and lice and god-knows-what-else they're crawling with. Come here!"

So she would leave the wild little creatures to themselves and traipse back to the house, forlorn that she was taken away from them once again. But she learned, in time, to sneak away into the forest behind her Washington home and seek out her beloved animals.

When she was fourteen she accidentally stumbled upon a wolf. Fear shot through her but she couldn't run. It was better that she hadn't. For if she'd run, the giant wolf would have seen her as prey, and given chase. But instead she was mesmerized by it's russet fur and piercing black eyes. She held out her hand to him, shaking though it was.

He took one step closer to her, then another, then another, until she could feel his hot breath all the way up her arm. He towered over her and barred his powerful canines until she was sure her death would come that day. When he turned without any foreseeable cause and ran off in the direction of the local Indian reservation, she finally let out a whoosh of air. She collapsed onto the ground as the adrenaline began to leave her body, but she knew without a doubt that she was hooked.

She needed contact with that type of danger. She wanted to feel the rush of being at the mercy of a powerful animal who acted on nothing but instinct. As long as she lived that desire never left her.

As she grew up, the craving grew, deepened, morphed and she longed to feel hunted once more. Unfortunately all she found were domesticated pets: frolicking Labradors, trained ponies, frisky felines – none of which would satisfy her. She turned away from every offer, discouraged and heartbroken.

A friend invited her to try just once more.

"Angela, please. I really don't want to. It's useless."

"Come on Bella. For me?" she begged, giving her the puppy-dog eyes that she so perfectly personified.

"What I want doesn't exist, Ang. It's no use to look."

"Just because we've never heard of it, doesn't mean it's not possible. Please, Bella. Please!"

"Alright, fine. But this is it. No more, after tonight. I just can't."

That night Bella rode to the party with Angela and her owner. She felt as out of place as always, longing to be something that she could barely even picture in her mind: both owner and submissive. In her fantasies she saw herself running, running, running from the predator, being caught, being owned by…something…a wild beast…dangerous. But what that could look like in real life, she couldn't fathom.

Unlike most of the people in similar postures through out the room, she wore no collar, no mark, no symbol, nothing. It made her feel as naked as some actually were, despite her relatively modest attire – the latex barely covering all the essentials. But her eyes were downcast, her hands clasped in front of her, a step behind her friends.

Angela turned to look at Bella and whined, "Nnnh, nnnh, nnnh," in perfect puppy pitch through her leather muzzle. When Bella looked up she saw her friend wag her tail in an encouraging gesture. She smiled at Angela's antics and petted her head.

"I'm gonna go grab a drink, Ben," she said to the man holding her friend's leash. "Do you want one?"

"No, thank you, Bella." He smiled warmly at her and pulled his pet along with a "Heel girl."

Bella watched as they disappeared into the crowd then headed for the refreshments area. A Gorean slave in a typical white toga gown approached her with a tray of champagne flutes.

"May this slave offer the lady a drink?" she asked with bowed head.

Bella took a glass without a word and turned to go see what scenes were playing out around the large mansion hosting the evening's activities. She strolled past decadent tableaus of pleasure feeling mildly titillated but nothing seemed to draw her interest.

That was until she saw _him._

He was curled up on an enormous pillow, eyes half closed in a posture of bored observation. Her eyes scanned over his form.

His hair was a wild mess of orange-toned brown fur that framed his face like a mane. His legs were tucked beneath him but she could see the clearly defined muscles at rest, coiled and waiting for their Master to command them to spring.

She stepped nearer and nearer to him as a familiar thrill rushed through her veins. Every sense was heightened and she knew, instinctively, that this creature before her was the most dangerous man in the room. But she desired nothing more than to be closer to him.

While she watched, mesmerized, he turned and stretched. Her breath caught in her lungs. He was bare, entirely bare. Only one ornamentation decorated his body – the long feline tail. It matched his hair exactly and he brought it up to curl around his body with a swish.

As he settled himself once more upon his regal cushion, he noticed her. She saw his eyes ignite and burn red hot. He bowed his back and crouched on his legs, bending to the floor with his hands beneath him and watched her as she stood like a sculpture at the edge of his obvious domain.

She inched closer still and saw his head lower further, his muscles bunch, and his mouth part just before he leapt. Like a great cat on the plains of Africa, he was swift, sure, and deadly. She was caught beneath him before she realized what happened.

He'd sprung from his place with a push from his powerful arms and legs and landed on top of her. She flung herself back onto a pile of cushions to avoid his impact, her drink spilled, glass rolling away, in the process. When her eyes opened after she landed, she flinched to realize he was so near.

With her flat on her back, he was crouched above her, but, she noticed sorrowfully, wasn't touching her anywhere. She was pinned where she lay with nothing more than the weight of his presence. Heart pounding, breath panting, eyes widening, she never felt more alive than that moment.

For a second he gazed into her eyes then dipped his head and she felt the broad expanse of his tongue lick from her collar bone up her neck ending behind her ear.

With a whimper she realized he was tasting her, testing her, deciding if he wanted to make a meal of her and, God help her, she was praying he did. Raising his head again he blew out a breath over her face and she was lost in the scent of him. His nose dipped this time and he sniffed her neck, her breasts, lower, looking up at her when he discovered her arousal. He tasted her there with another long lick, convincing her that it was entirely possible to die from pleasure.

Her mind was still reeling when he nipped at her thigh with his teeth and pressed against her hip with his nose. It wasn't a request, it was a command and she knew it. Scrambling, trembling, pumping with fear and adrenaline, she turned her body over so his torso ran the length of her spine, then raised her hips like an animal in heat.

In the next moment, he didn't ask; he took.

She was caged beneath him, surround by his arms and legs and skewered by his flesh. He panted and grunted and flexed above her and she could do nothing but mew like a frightened kitten.

The sounds their flesh made was obscene – wet and squelching – but were the most honest thing she'd heard in her life. Truthful in the obviousness of their activity, unashamed in the animalistic fucking, and oblivious to everything and everyone around them.

He took and took and took from her until sweat dripped from his brow to her shoulder. She gave and gave and gave until her cheek had fabric burns and her dress bunched around her waist, having slipped from her breasts and her thighs.

Harder and harder he pounded, scooting her across the cushion-bedecked floor in his royal corner until her head hit the wall and she braced her hands against it. When he came, he burst inside of her with a mighty roar and bit down on her neck. She felt the skin break, smelled the blood drip, and came with an earth-shattering force the likes of which she never knew existed.

When she came back to herself, he was lapping at her wound and still buried inside her. She squeezed her eyes shut then opened them wide to look over her shoulder at him.

His eyes retained the wild quality but showed definite signs of satiation. While she watched him warily he pressed something soft into her hand. Turning her head to see what it was, she saw the end of the long golden-red tail. He pulled out of her with a slurp and she felt the remnants drip down her thighs.

He dismounted from atop her and turned without looking back. She clambered to her feet and held on to the end of his tail, careful not pull it from where it was anchored inside him. Following him through the crowd and tugging her dress with her free hand, she watched the muscles of his back roll beneath his skin as he stalked across the room and up the stairs.

It never occurred to her to glance back. She had no nervousness to be leaving all the other guests behind them. This was exactly what she'd been looking for her whole life. It was so perfect, in fact that soon after the party, Bella moved into that very mansion.

A doormat graces the step below their front door saying, "A cat and his human live here."


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's notes:** Due to high demand from some kinky h00rs that I heart big time I'm adding Edward's side of the story. As usual he's a wordy bastard so this will be in a couple of parts. This is short and kinky and NSFW or those under 21.

Chapter 2

It was a good thing that the party was next Saturday, that's all he could say.

When yet another imbecile approached him asking for his attendance, and therefore his money, at another charity event he very nearly growled at her. The beast within was getting more and more difficult to keep caged these days and he had every intention of letting him loose on the first prey he could find come Saturday night.

Instead, for now, he smiled charmingly and accepted graciously and noted mentally the details of the event to which he and his money would make no more than a token appearance. Then he turned away in disgust when the fuzzy-headed bimbo attempted to flirt with the man she saw in front of her. However it wasn't possible to be less interested in her than he was.

_Where is she? _he wondered. _Where is the woman who is brave enough to see the monster inside without trying to tame him?_

Oh, there would be plenty of women at his house the following evening, all willing enough to lay on their backs and spread their legs. He wasn't too proud to admit he'd most likely take advantage of one or two, too, but he would get no more than a simple physical gratification from their coupling. When it's over they'll want to talk and _communicate_ and express their gratitude to him in far too many words…words that filled up his ears and his head and pounded around him until he had a raging headache.

He shook his head as he got into the back of his car. "Home, please, Banner," he said to the middle-aged driver as the man slid into the seat in front of him.

So many voices, just the thought of them all made his head begin to hurt. On second thought, maybe he wouldn't partake of any offerings tomorrow, he thought as he leaned his head back against the leather seat.

The next day was a flurry of activity which, thankfully, his very capable and very understanding housekeeper-come-personal assistant Mrs. Cope, was efficiently handling downstairs. The caterers, cleaning crew, and wait staff (slave girls) were all being arranged. Mrs. Cope wasn't a member of his private community but she was knowledgeable, discreet, and thoroughly un-excitable – nothing whatsoever ruffled her feathers. She handled his every request as if he'd asked for his dry cleaning.

Having been with him for the better part of fifteen years – since before his parents died when he was seventeen – he knew his house could not function without her. When he'd told her of his offer to host his local BDSM community's annual shindig, she began arranging things immediately.

That was how he found himself upstairs in his room with no more to do than ready himself. He began with a shower, letting the steamy water pink his skin and wash away every concern but his attempt to enjoy of the evening. Refusing to tame his hair any more than he refused to be tamed this evening, he let it dry as it pleased in every direction it wished while he shaved.

He walked to his large closet, to the drawer in the back and pulled out his tail, running it through his fingers. Custom made of velvet and steel, it was one of his most prized possessions.

_Time to clean the barrel, _he thought with a wry grin sliding the tail into the notched holder on his bedpost. The apparatus was a small innocuous looking thing that was virtually unnoticeable with just a casual glance around the room. However it was designed to hold the tail's anchor at both the perfect height and perfect angle so that he could gain the maximum amount of pleasure from it. When he was through, he merely slid his hips forward taking the tail with him where it would remain attached to his body as his only form of ornamentation.

The rounded steel point stuck up enticingly as he dribbled the lube over the end then into the palm of his other hand. He flipped the lid closed and tossed it back in the bedside drawer. Rubbing his hands together, he spread the lube liberally so that both palms were slick and warm. With one hand he grasped his semi-hard cock and with the other he reached around to slick the crack between his cheeks.

Only a few seconds into pulling on his hard dick his was slick and needy and hadn't bothered using his fingers behind him. Instead he turned and backed up to the cold steel, just bouncing lightly with the metal against his puckered flesh. Soon, though, he was no longer tapping against it but using the tip to spread himself.

All the while he pulled on his cock, squeezing at the base and drawing up as if pulled the white liquid up from his balls. Each downward push began with a squeeze to the head and push through his thumb and forefinger until the ridge of his head emerged on the other side with a pop. Then back again as he pulled away from his hand, he slid down on the steel in his ass.

Soon his skin was hot and his breathing was shallow. The vision in his mind was of some faceless dark beauty who was meek as a lamb but courageous enough to tempt fate with a lion. The ever present desire to find her, chase her, hunt her had him galloping along faster and faster – tugging, pushing, riding, bouncing, pulling and sweating until he growled his release, shooting across the room nearly to his dresser.

He slumped against the tall bed post behind him still holding his pulsing cock in one hand and his balls in the other. What had come over him? He hadn't come that hard in a long while?

Still anchored by his ass to the bed he grabbed the towel he had at the ready and wiped his hands clean. Then he sank down until it was fully seated and shifted his hips forward, sliding the anchor out of the notch. He walked to the mirror on his closet door and turned to check his appearance, smiling in satisfaction at how the addition of this one indicator of his true nature freed the beast entirely.

Sinking to his hands and knees, he stretched and flexed until he felt his muscles relax into their preferred posture once more. He could feel them roll in his shoulder blades and down his back as he stalked around his room.

He felt like a caged lion pacing back and forth, back and forth, until he began to hear the sounds of arriving guests. Descending the stairs, he scans the room and stalks to the corner he ordered set up with giant floor cushions. There he stretched again and watched the party take place around him, both wanting to find the way in which he could more fully participate without compromising his desires and yet bored with the whole thing.

That is, until he saw her.


	3. Chapter 3

Pounce.

Devour.

Possess.

Mine!

Then he leapt into the air. Without forethought, without trying, without playing a role, or channeling a mindset, or thinking about it first, he merely reacted. Reacted to her wide, hungry eyes. Reacted to her panting breath and swiftly rising and falling chest. Reacted to the fear he could've sworn he could smell on her. Reacted to her foolish bravado that brought her so close to him. But more than anything he reacted to her arrousal. _That_, he could smell.

She was unlike anything or anyone he'd ever seen. Not that there was anything about her appearance that particularly stood out. She was beautiful in a simple, unassuming kind of way and relatively modestly dressed. Brown hair, brown eyes, petite...but there was a _recognition_ in her face that he felt reflected in his soul. It was as if he'd just been waiting for her all this time.

That's why he leapt.

He hurdled across the room and landed with his body caged protectively around her where she landed, nestled in the cushions of his lair. It was a perfect picture of the instinctive need he suddenly felt for her. His whole body jerked as he looked around them. Others were staring. The speed and aggressiveness of his movement and his stance over her had drawn the attention of the crowd around them. He growled possessively, warning any competition that they were too late.

His claim staked, he bent his head to sniff his newfound prize, his prey.

Her scent burned his nostrils with its intensity. When he'd filled his lungs with her, he knew he would never forget her and could find her solely on her aroma alone, so strong was the heady presence of her beneath him. He followed his instincts further and lapped at her skin, wanting to memorize her on another level, with another sense.

His tongue traveled over her skin both learning her and marking her. But he didn't worry. He would be marking her more overtly very soon. With that in mind he traveled down her body to the source of her essence. If the scent of her intoxicated him, then the taste of her drove him mad. He had barely enough thought to beat back the insanity of his desire to make his one wish known. What he wanted was to throw her over, himself. What he did was command she offer herself to him and wait to see if she obeyed. If she did, she was his. If she couldn't, wouldn't, she wasn't what he thought she was.

Her wide eyes stared at him and he nipped her flesh, pushing her, because he was certain he was correct.

When she, like a cat in heat, mewling her pleas at him, turned and offered her cunt for his use, he didn't hesitate for a second. He pierced her flesh with his and listened with glee to her cries of arousal.

He let the madness of lust overtake him, pounding her with wild abandon, never thinking of anything but taking, taking, taking his pleasure from her and fucking, fucking, fucking, her into submission. But he needn't have worried. As he pistoned her across the floor, not giving her time to stabilize herself, to recover from one pump to the next, he grunted and sweated in true, raw, animalistic fucking that epitomized everything he'd ever desired it to be.

When she hit the walls and her hands flew up to catch herself, a fraction of a second he hesitated, worried that he'd gone to far – that the beast was too powerful, even for him. But when she used the wall for leverage and pushed back on his cock, all worry turned to vapor and dissipated. She was his to use, his to dominate, his to finally be his equal because she and she alone was capable of taming the beast inside of him.

That revelation sent him barreling through every barrier he'd ever had and he roared into the crowd standing around watching the spectacle they made. He pumped through his orgasm and bit his ownership into her flesh until her blood burst upon his tongue. To his supreme delight, the action shoved her forcefully into the abyss of passion.

Her orgasmic wail was a mating call to him that he couldn't refuse to answer. He was powerless against it. So when she turned to look at him, he lapped the blood from her skin, pressed into her hand the one thing he'd never given to anyone – the means with which to follow him into the life he wanted.

With a confidence that surpassed logic in what they were to each other now, he pulled his cock from her body – watching himself drip from her – and turned. Stalking through the gathered people, across the room, and up the stairs, he led her to his lair. She had no idea how dangerous it was to follow him but he knew she was the one person in the world who could venture into the lion's den and come out alive.

She _was_ the wild thing he had been waiting for.


End file.
